


Bringing a Tank to an Axe Fight

by 12thdoctorwhomst



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/12thdoctorwhomst/pseuds/12thdoctorwhomst
Summary: Taking place after "The Doctor's Meditation" and before "The Magician's Apprentice", The Doctor plans his final night in Essex, 1183AD.
Kudos: 3





	Bringing a Tank to an Axe Fight

“Bors!” shouted the grey-haired Scot. He wore a pair of dark checkered trousers, a white graphic tee, and a black sweater that sprawled onto the floor behind him. Beneath him was a vast amount of equations and theories, scribbled in chalk on the old wooden floor. Candles flickered their light around the room as they stood in a circle around the old man. A fire crackled from behind while the moonlight graced itself on the floor next to him. 

A larger fellow dressed in a brown tunic and sporting a rough beard entered the stone castle room. “Sir Doctor,” he inquired, “what is it now?”

The Doctor stood up from the floor and brushed off the chalk from his trousers. After a few strokes with his chalky hands, he looked down to discover his trousers were covered in more white dust than before. He stopped trying to clean them. Walking into the light of the moon, he looked up to that celestial body and said, pressing a hand to his mouth, “I think you were right. What you said earlier.”

“That you widened my mind?” Bors quickly guessed.

The Doctor smiled at him and snapped, “No, not that.” He gazed back at the mess of chalk below and pointed his hands at it all. “I can’t sit still for this meditation,” he admitted. “I need to do something; I need to be something!” He looked back towards the full face of the moon. The Doctor’s face lit up. “Yes!” he shouted.

“What is it?” Bors asked.

The Doctor began pacing around the room, avoiding the candles on the floor. “Oh! Oh, yes. That  _ is _ what I should do,” he said out loud to himself.

Bors let out a heavy sigh and stated, “As of yet I can not read your mind, Magician.” He took a few steps towards the circle of candles. “So, please do tell. What is it that you should do?”

The grey-haired man stopped in his tracks and locked eyes with Bors. Combined with his wild eyebrows, Bors could see a light glowing from the old man’s wide eyes. Then, shuffling over to him, he said, “You know my story, Bors, but not all of it.” The Doctor raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Three things, but-” He pointed at the large fellow. “You. Go and fetch yourself an axe from- from the guitar store or whatever,” he instructed, moving his finger towards the doorway. “We’re having an axe fight tonight.”

Taken back from this out-of-nowhere request, Bors genuinely questioned, “Are you capable of wielding such a weapon?”

A bit insulted, The Doctor retaliated, “Capable?” He looked Bors up and down and scoffed, “I’d be more concerned for you in all honesty.”

Bors let out a tired sigh. “If that is what you wish for your last night, Sir Doctor,” Bors responded while bowing. The large man then straightened his back and furrowed his brows. “Although, I have not heard of a  _ guitar store _ . Would an axe from the barracks do fine?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “Yeah. That’ll do. Just be back before the twelfth hour,” he instructed. Under his breath, he whispered, “Before my hour…” 

Bors bowed again before exiting the room to begin the descent down the spiralling stone stairwell. The Doctor moved over to the doorway of the stairwell and placed a hand on the cold stone wall. “And tell all the  _ dudes _ to come or I’ll be very crossed!” he shouted down the stairs. 

He turned back to the room, walked past the candle circle, onto the bear pelt rug, and leaned up against the hearth. By now the fire was burning low; a small flame held its place among the blackened timbers. “Oh Bors,” he began, talking to himself. He reached into his sweater coat pocket. “If only you knew the true nature of my dilemma,” he continued as he pulled out a set of shades. “Well, no matter. At least his IQ has gone up four points.” The Doctor gave a little smirk and donned the shades. “That’s better than no points at all,” he jabbed.

The candles on the floor were starting to drip onto the wood, shrinking ever so slowly. A cool gust found it’s way inside and their small flames nearly flickered out. The Doctor tossed his hood over his silvery hair in response to the chill. He found his way to the floor again, pushed his back up against the hearth, adjusted himself until he was comfortably seated on the bear rug, and gazed at his chalk scribbles on the planks. He let out a sigh. 

“I suppose it’s time.” The Doctor brought a hand up to his face and activated his sonic shades’ augmented reality. The AR interface began drawing green lines over notable edges and objects in the room: candles, candle stands, the window, the wardrobe, and the basket to his left. Bold, green text appeared to hover in the middle of the room. A smaller black bar stretched horizontally below it with the word “search” in the middle. He inputted an onomatopoeia and waited for the results to show.

Suddenly, a chiselled faced robot appeared on The Doctor’s AR display and said, “Welcome to Kerblam! How may I be of assistance to you, Doctor?” It wore a hat attached to its head with a strap around the chin, a dress shirt, tie, and buttoned-up suit. It tilted it’s head to the side as it waited for a response.

“Ah, Kerblam man, glad you could make it. You see, I’m in need of a very particular item for an axe fight, and you-” The Doctor looked towards the window. Below it was the moat, and beyond that, the grass fields. He inquired, interlocking his fingers simultaneously, “You can do same-day deliveries, correct?” 

“Same- _ hour _ deliveries, Doctor. What do you request?”

“Oh, good.” The Doctor pointed his figure towards the AR robot. “I’ll have that!” He awkwardly arose from the bear rug with a grunt, walked up to the windowsill, and leaned on it with his arms. The Kerblam man turned on the spot to face the window. “How much- No. Not that. Can you get a tank down there on the field before midnight?” He stretched out a hand to the ground below. “And make it a large one with a remote.”

“A large  _ toy _ tank, Doctor?” The robot asked from behind, tilting its head.

He slowly turned around, and his Scottish scowled face read ‘insulted’. “No! A  _ real _ one! Since when were you programmed to think? Forget it, I can just rig one on later.”

“Of course, Doctor. A  _ real _ tank to be delivered before midnight in-” The robot paused and waited for The Doctor to speak.

“Down in that field somewhere,” he said, throwing an arm behind him while making his way back to the hearth.

The Kerblam man nodded in understanding and continued, “-down in that field somewhere.” It pulled out a clipboard and pen from the aether and looked down to write the order. Looking up again it inquired, “Will that be all?”

The Doctor took a moment to think. “Perhaps a fez, but just deliver it whenever you can; no rush on that one…”

“Understood!” the enthusiastic robot said while jotted the fez order beneath the  _ real _ tank. “That will be twelve-”

“Ah, don’t tell me. Just bill it out to future me. It’s not like I’ll be around here for long…” He looked down at the nearly extinguished fire, it’s embers glowing faint reds and oranges, like veins running through the charred wood. “Can’t keep adding wood to the fire,” The Doctor thought, “and I can’t run from this any longer.” His face became sombre and a feeling of forlorn crept within him, a feeling he knew all too well throughout his lifetimes.

“Wonderful!” the Kerblam man exclaimed. “And remember, if you want it, Kerblam it!” Then the robot disappeared from the greenish interface of the sonic shades. After a few moments, The Doctor slipped the shades off, folded them up, and placed them back in his pocket. He let out another sigh.

With the fire out, the chill of the night began to make the stone castle room it’s home. Displeased with the frigid air, The Doctor made his way to the wardrobe and pulled the doors open. Hanging inside it was: a multicoloured coat, a leather jack, a long scarf, and bow ties. He scanned over them all and decided he wasn’t that cold for those clothes. He then looked down at a pair of red converse. “No,” he thought, “I wore them a few days ago and they’re all thin around the toes. Most uncomfortable!”

Beside those shoes, leaning up against the inside of the wardrobe, was a 6-string electric guitar. He reached for it and pulled the strap over his head, letting the instrument sling down over his left shoulder. He pushed the wardrobe doors closed and took a few steps back. After taking his hood off and pulling a guitar pick from his pocket, he began tuning the strings individually by ear. Once he was satisfied with the sound, he turned to head towards the stairwell.

Before heading down, The Doctor turned to look at the room he had spent the better of three weeks. It was time now. Time to make it right. Reaching into his sweater pocket again, he pulled out the sonic shades and donned them. “Right!” he exclaimed, turning to the stairs again, “Let’s get this party started!” 

With that, The Doctor descended the spiralling stone stairwell, each one of his steps echoing off the walls until they were too muffled and distant to hear.


End file.
